The Broken Façade
by Athena G
Summary: A ball can change everything... ADMM.
1. Head of Gryffindor

Disclaimer: None of the characters, places etc. in this story belong to me.

_**Head of Gryffindor**_

_December 2000_

Minerva McGonagall stared into the enormous mirror that she had tried for an eternity to dispose of. It was revoltingly garish with gold trimmings and strange, elaborately carved shapes protruding annoyingly from it in all directions. It matched neither her taste nor her room, but no matter what spell she cast or what orders she gave it, she had found it impossible to move even one inch.

Staring at herself surrounded by this hideous monstrosity did not improve her already dampened spirit. The Yule Ball in honour of the four Triwizard Tournament champions was fast approaching and what the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did not know was that this ball was something _everyone_ at the school – or rather _almost_ everyone – feared.

Minerva was one of these people. Perhaps 'fear' in her case is the wrong word, but she was most certainly not looking forward to the event. Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand had been bouncing around the school jovially, his mind's clock counting down the weeks, days, hours, and sometimes even minutes until the clocks of Hogwarts were to chime seven, thus announcing the official moment the ball was to begin.

Minerva continued to look at her reflection. She was not usually one to put much thought into her appearance; however a few tiny words spoken meaninglessly by Dumbledore earlier that day had stuck in her mind like Aquinius' Eternally Attaching Adhesive. Incidentally probably the same adhesive that held her mirror fast to her chamber wall.

'A school ball is the only time a student sees a teacher as a human,' he had said. 'So we have to show them that there is more to us than their average school day might insinuate.'

'No we don't,' had been Minerva's reply.

Dumbledore had acknowledged her response with a nod and said nothing more. It was this microscopic portion of her day had been most persistent in its desire to be remembered.

Standing in front of the mirror now, Minerva took in her excruciating teacher-like appearance. Her hair was scraped back in its customary bun, and she could see the small portions of grey protruding through, uninvited. Her glasses were still perched on the edge of her nose, even though the school day had ended over an hour ago. The crinkled skin by her eyes and on her forehead and neck was subtle but noticeable nonetheless. Her eyes seemed to be the only aspect that had remained unchanged. Two emerald green pools sparkled over her glasses and stared back at her. She took a deep breath in through her nose, and her nostrils flared as the air was inhaled by the lungful. The last time there had been a ball at Hogwarts was in a summer during the early years of her teaching, when her features were more youthful and the latest fashions much more rigid and straightforward.

Tap tap tap.

Minerva's head turned as she glanced at her door from where the familiar knock punctured the stiff atmosphere of her quarters.

_June 1960_

"Come in."

Dumbledore entered. He was wearing summer-thin, pale blue robes that enhanced the blueness of his eyes extraordinarily. The recently arrived slivers of silver in his beard glistened in the evening light as he walked over to Minerva, standing by the mirror – a frighteningly gaudy mirror that Dumbledore would request she dispose of if his manners did not intervene each time he came close to remarking on it.

"Albus," Minerva said, surprised. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's what I can do for you," Dumbledore answered mysteriously.

Minerva raised her eyebrows questioningly and gestured for Dumbledore to make himself comfortable. He seated himself on Minerva's sofa and she followed, perching next to him and leaning back against the arm, awaiting his explanation.

"I'd like to make you Head of Gryffindor House," he said quite to the point. This statement was greeted by an unreadable, lingering glance from Minerva as she quickly looked up at him. Dumbledore continued, "It comes with a lot more responsibility, but responsibility I know you can contend with, and I would like it very much indeed if you were to accept the offer."

Minerva's smile crept through; delicately, yes, but it was marked and unmistakable. "Thank you," she replied gently. "I accept."

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "This then, I believe, is a call for some celebration or other. Gerald." All of a sudden a tiny house elf appeared with a crack out of thin air. "Gerald, could you have a bottle of celebratory wine and some nibbles brought up as soon as you wish, please?"

"Gerald'll find you the finest wine and nibbles we've got, sir, and he'll be back before you can say –" And with that Gerald abruptly vanished.

"One of the more individual house elves, I think," Dumbledore remarked. Gerald was back and gone again only a few second later, and Dumbledore and Minerva were left sitting on Minerva's sofa, clinking their newly filled goblets together for the first drink of the night.

"First love?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes twinkling merrily at her.

"Hamish." Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at her quizzically. "My cat," Minerva added. "I was five."

"Ah," Dumbledore replied, curious as to why he had almost felt a certain amount of resentment towards a cat. "First –"

"Oh no, Albus, you don't get away that easily," Minerva interrupted, as if she were addressing one of her pupils. "Most recent love?"

"Alas," Dumbledore said rather too dramatically. "There has been nothing and no one since my beloved Mildred went up in flames."

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise. Understanding that Dumbledore was avoiding the question completely she played along. "And who was this magnificent Mildred whom no one has surpassed?"

Dumbledore sighed spectacularly. "She was my first and only love, my dear. A fine broomstick with outstanding –" He stopped when he heard Minerva laughing softly at him. "I hope you are not taking pleasure out of my misfortune," he said.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Albus," she replied, straightening her face with difficulty. "What happened?"

"My brother set the house on fire." Minerva could not help but laugh at that, and she saw Dumbledore return her smiles.

"I have a question for you," Minerva stated. The wine had not yet reached its dizzying stage, but Minerva was definitely slightly freer with her tongue.

"I believe you will find it my turn to ask you," he said. Minerva complied with his wishes and waited for her question. Dumbledore pondered a while; looking up to her ceiling and forming a pose Minerva thought probably resembled some great philosopher. Finally, turning back to her, he spoke.

"Have you ever tasted a pear drop?" Minerva looked at him blankly.

"That's you're great question?" she asked his after a surprised pause.

"I'll have you know that pear drops are one of the tastiest muggle sweets I have ever tried," he said ardently. "Though sometimes I get the feeling that there is something else out there, even more delicious, that one day I will just stumble upon."

Once again, his words were greeted with a short silence. Then, "No, I haven't. However my sweet tooth is not as keen as yours, Albus. I'm surprised you're not out searching for this mystery sweet of yours right now."

"Your mockery washes over my, my dear," Dumbledore replied. "May I offer you a refill?" Minerva looked down at her almost empty goblet and held it out for Dumbledore to replenish. "Now," he continued after having topped up both goblets. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Have you always wanted long hair and a beard?"

"An interesting question," Dumbledore answered with complete seriousness. "I had a handlebar moustache once – before your time," he added, bowing his head respectfully to her. "However I felt the look did not quite suit me."

"So what made you go for your current… style?" she asked.

"I remembered a picture that I liked which I had seen in a muggle book when I was a small boy. It was a sketch of a wizard with the longest hair and a beard to match. I think it was supposed to be Merlin." Dumbledore's brow creased slightly. "They got that very wrong," he added in reflection, shaking his head. "What about you?" he continued.

Sipping her wine, Minerva looked at him over the rim. She lowered her glass as she heard his question: "Do you know that I have never, not once in all the years that I have known you, seen your hair loose from its constraints?"

She continued to look at him and, once again, her small smile crept through. This time however, the smile did not contain the contentment it held earlier but a glimmer of sorrow and regret. "Of course I do," she answered.

"Why?" Dumbledore proceeded with caution. He noticed the sudden bleakness that had invaded Minerva's features, though she did well to order it quickly hidden.

"It's a long, tiresome story," she said, looking into her wine goblet and refraining from glancing at Dumbledore's face. "Too dreary for this time of night."

Dumbledore watched as the woman opposite him grew steadily more sombre. She would no longer allow her eyes to connect with his, forbidding them to roam anywhere except into the deep red pool of liquid in her goblet.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said in a low voice.

"It doesn't matter," she told him quietly.

"I think it does," he replied, firmly this time.

His concern was justified. If Minerva McGonagall does not like something then you are made very aware of it. In this moment Dumbledore discovered a deep sorrow in Minerva which had never been so much as hinted at.

His words were met with silence. Thankful that Minerva was close to him, he reached his hand out to hers and wrapped his fingers round its side, prying it easily from the goblet, while her other continued to grip the stem tightly. He did not say a word.

After a strange silence that flooded the room with strain and friction, Dumbledore felt Minerva's hand relax slowly into his.

"It seems silly," she started, her discomfort clear in her posture and the fact that her eyes still refused to meet his. "My brother used to play with my hair when we were younger. Even when he was a baby my mother would take me to his room if he was crying and dangle my hair over his crib. It always soothed him." She was relaxing now. Shifting in her seat a little she moved to lean against the comfortable back of the sofa. "I was eleven when he died."

She stopped for a pause in order to hold her threatening tears to her; their release would suggest a defeat that she had not yet accepted.

"So you've scraped back your hair since then to forget?"

Minerva looked at him now, her furrowed brow displaying her confusion at his words. She shook her head uncertainly. "To not be reminded."

"Do you see a difference?" he asked quietly and with care.

"To be reminded is to be unprepared," she told him. "It's harder that way."

"Is it?" Dumbledore said. It was not really a question. He held her eyes when she looked at him this time. Her hand grew stiffer in his.

"Minerva," he continued gently, "your brother's death is a part of you, no matter how terrible. It has moulded you to whom you have become but you have not accepted it. You've held it so close to you, allowing no one to even glimpse it, but you have not felt it."

Dumbledore could see the muscles tightening in Minerva's jaw as she clenched her teeth, not out of anger at his words, but from a struggle that was desperate to break through the surface of her skin. He released his hold on her hand and raised himself out of his seat. Minerva remained where she was, no longer looking at him but staring straight ahead, her attention and thoughts now solely internal and private.

"Grief is an emotion that nature requires us to conquer. Only then can we truly be ourselves, unbroken - and whole."

Minerva heard his words. She heard him walk across the room and heard the click of the door as he left. Only after that did she allow her tears to flow freely. Only then did her hair fall to her waist.


	2. Bright Eyes

**Bright Eyes**

_June 1960_

Dawn emerged without being perceived the next morning. The bright summer heavens had been exchanged in the night for thick, grey, stormy clouds that concealed the sun behind their dark mass; a mass which seemed to cover the entire stretch of sky reaching to the far edges of the horizon. However, the excitable moods of the students of Hogwarts were not to be discouraged; the summer ball was set for that evening, and the weather was certainly not going to impede the upcoming merriment.

Minerva came to breakfast refreshed, though not from a night of restful sleep. On the contrary, her night had been full of strenuous reflection and challenging reasoning; but sleep arrived when her mind had unearthed a peace that she was unaware she had been seeking. Dumbledore was already seated and was talking animatedly with Professor Flitwick who had joined him on his other side that morning.

Taking her seat, Minerva spoke her much desired breakfast into her plate and was rewarded with cornflakes – which she had not asked for. She sighed loudly through her nose and vanished the cornflakes with her wand.

"How many times has that happened in the last fortnight?" Dumbledore had turned to greet her and witnessed the meal time mistake he had seen countless times in recent days. Minerva turned to him only slightly frustrated this time, compared to her usual burst of annoyance at the house elf blunder.

"Will you do the honours?" she asked. Dumbledore smiled at her and leaned over just enough so that the plate could hear his order.

"Thank you," she said as the correct breakfast appeared without any difficulty.

"I think there's a curse on your plate, Minerva," he told her. "Either that or it can't understand your Scottish tongue," he added with a playful smile.

"Very amusing, Albus," she said, her own small smile defying her sarcastic words. "I'll talk to the house elves later."

Dumbledore kept his eyes on her for a short while as she began to eat, before turning back to his own breakfast. Minerva ate in silence while the student chatter filled every empty space in the Hall.

Suddenly, just as the crowd began to disperse, an enormous flash of lightning shot across the Great Hall ceiling. Some students cried out in surprise, others even stooped or ducked their heads to avoid the bolt that would never reach them. Almost every face in the Great Hall looked up at the bewitched ceiling, and just as they did a huge crack of thunder invaded the ears of each and every person present. Many people jumped or flinched in surprise at the massive explosion of noise. The rain came soon after that. It began as a patter against the windows, and then turned almost immediately into an alarming downpour.

Dumbledore and Minerva had joined the students and other teachers in staring up at the ceiling that loomed dark and menacing above them. Another bolt flashed and the ear-splitting clap of thunder came sooner that time, telling everyone present that the storm was quickly closing in above Hogwarts. Dumbledore smiled and looked back down at his plate to finish off the small remains of his breakfast.

"Glorious weather we're having," he said with complete sincerity. Minerva tutted and rolled her eyes in conjunction with a smile, and dropped her knife onto the breakfast plate she had wiped clean.

"We'll have to change some of the outside arrangements for the ball tonight."

"Is the ball tonight?" Dumbledore asked feigning indifference. "I had no idea."

Minerva knew full well that Dumbledore had every idea, and that he was probably more enthusiastic about this ball than a lot of the students. His usual twinkle glittered as he peered at her over the rim of his spectacles and declared happily, "I'll have to practise my dancing."

"We're there to supervise, Albus," Minerva said sharply. "We can't have students cursed with tickling spells and such nonsense again."

Her patience was tried as Dumbledore chuckled merrily at the memory of last year's summer ball.

---

Later that afternoon, Minerva stood in the entrance hall waiting for Professor Flitwick to help her weatherproof, rearrange or, if necessary, take down completely the outside decorations and the enormous tents that were even bigger on the inside.

The storm had remained throughout the entire day and the rain was pouring harder and faster by the hour – Minerva could hear it pounding against the castle, and the entrance hall was frequently alight with the flashes of lightning speeding overhead.

"Forgive my tardiness, Minerva." Dumbledore's voice rang out cheerfully from just behind her. She turned and was greeted by his smiling face.

"Where's Filius?" she asked.

"He asked me to make his apologies, however he is in somewhat of a fix from a fourth year charm gone rather awry," Dumbledore told her. "I trust my company will do for the present?"

"You trust correctly," Minerva answered.

Once they had stepped out of the entrance doors they began to understand to what extent the castle had been protecting them. As it was summer the temperature outside was rather pleasant; however the wind was stronger than it had appeared to be from behind the school walls, and it began hammering the rain fiercely into Dumbledore and Minerva the moment they stepped out of the castle.

They moved quickly down the steps and out into the open where their backs were no longer protected by the castle wall. Minerva's hat was immediately blown off her head and, though she quickly retrieved it with a spell, she transfigured it into a thimble so that she could tuck it away safely. Their cloaks were beating and flapping around them as the wind blew one way, then the other, then twirled and twisted around, and they were soon sodden with the lashing rain.

"We need to move the fairy lights first," Minerva said loudly over the howling wind and hammering rain to Dumbledore.

A crash of thunder deafened her to his reply, but she saw him move over to the bushes where the fairies were struggling against the severe storm. Gently and with care, Minerva and Dumbledore helped to loosen the tiny creatures from the bushes that held them captive, and a complicated spell vanished them to a place that no witch or wizard has ever seen, and which only exists if you are a fairy.

"We'll have to take the tents down," Dumbledore said as they both stood up from the last bush. "They'll be ruined in this weather or blown away completely. None of the students will come out here."

There was another lightning flash which flared together with a massive clap of thunder, only emphasising Dumbledore's point. The lightning illuminated his entire form and Minerva saw his eyes flash underneath his drenched, flailing hair. Something in that moment suddenly made the two professors hesitate to move apart. Minerva held Dumbledore's eyes a few seconds' longer while loose strands of her hair and his whipped at her face and neck. She watched as the strands danced and tangled together before them, only to become free again in the turbulent, relentless wind. Another crack of thunder came. It was so loud this time that they both jumped at its colossal blast. The moment vanished.

"Let's be quick," she said.

Their faces were dripping wet and their cloaks lay heavy on their frames as they headed for the first of the three large tents spread out over the Hogwarts grounds. As they came to it Minerva passed Dumbledore and headed for the second, reaching for her wand. The storm continued, becoming louder and louder as the three tents were quickly dismantled and whipped away into nothingness.

-

As soon as they were back inside the castle entrance hall Minerva and Dumbledore stood brushing their wet hair from of their faces where the strands had matted together from the rain and flattened against their eyes and cheeks and forehead. Two separate puddles began to form at their feet from their dripping robes.

"At least it's not cold," Minerva said thankfully, her face still moist with water droplets.

"How about a nice cup of chocolate before the festivities begin?" Dumbledore asked her as he wrung the rain water out of his beard, deepening the puddle he was standing in.

"A cup of tea sounds perfect," she answered.

"That's what I meant, of course," Dumbledore responded. "Who would want a sweet, delicious drink such as chocolate at my age?"

"Who indeed?" Minerva said.

Dumbledore just caught her smile as she turned away from him to walk up the entrance steps to her quarters.

-

Minerva stepped over her threshold still in soaking robes and was welcomed with the sight of two steaming mugs on her table, one of tea and the other undoubtedly full of hot chocolate. Dumbledore entered behind her, equally sodden but cheerful.

"Ah, that Gerald is a wonder," he said to himself as he saw their refreshments.

He took Minerva's outer cloak from her and hung it with his own in mid-air. Pointing his wand at them and muttering a quick spell, Dumbledore watched the colours lighten as the cloaks dried with his words.

"Make yourself at home," Minerva said. "I'll be back in a minute."

Dumbledore watched as she walked into the next room then dried the robes he was wearing and performed a similar spell for his hair and beard. He sat down on her sofa with his mug of chocolate and hummed a little tune as he waited for it to cool and for Minerva to return.

Suddenly he heard a sharp, disgruntled noise come from the room Minerva had entered and looked over to the door. It had just opened and she was walking through it in different (and consequently completely dry) robes.

Her hair however was the aspect that had caught Dumbledore's attention. She had released it from the long-established bun and, still flattened with rainwater, it was now dripping down past her shoulders and her elbows and reaching the small of her back. He watched her walk to the cloaks hanging on nothing and saw as her hand dived into one of the pockets. Pre-empting her next move, Dumbledore stood up, placing his drink on the table before him. He walked over to her, pulling his wand out of his pocket as he did so.

Minerva's fingers clenched round the wand that she had pulled from her cloak pocket just as she saw Dumbledore standing beside her.

"Allow me, my dear." he said smiling.

The wind and rain had twisted her hair together and had formed thick ropes which were hanging heavily, but these unravelled gradually into their individual strands as Dumbledore pointed his wand at the tips of Minerva's hair resting almost at her hips, and muttered the same spell as the one he had performed on himself. His eyes followed his wand as it climbed up slowly past her stomach, past her breasts, reaching her collarbone, then her shoulders, and finally the magic completed the rest and dried her hair to the roots. It shone with the delicacy of morning sunlight spilling through glass, and its inky blackness poured down her body like a gentle potion.

"I can't quite put my finger on it," Dumbledore said, standing opposite her, his eyes twinkling teasingly, "but I've noticed that something's different."

"And what might that be?" Minerva asked him, indulging him in his tease.

He was only standing a few feet away from her, but she felt, more than saw his eyes sweep over her form and then back to her face. He looked at her in the pause that followed, his eyes drinking in and absorbing every inch of skin that shaped her features. Minerva felt naked under his gaze and found that she did not mind. She stared back at him, and when his eyes came back to hers from their journey over her face, he spoke.

"Your eyes are brighter."


	3. Distractions

**Disclaimer**: Poem 'The Seven' - _Anon_ From the Sumerian (trans, Jerome K. Rothenberg)

**Distractions**

_June 1960_

Minerva was late and not very impressed. Peeves the poltergeist had caused some trouble with an inkwell and a group of female students who were proudly dressed for the ball, and Minerva had had to leave her quarters to settle the disruption. She was alone in the entrance hall and the huge Great Hall doors had closed several minutes ago.

She did not feel herself. Her usually expertly controlled nerves were misbehaving and making her stomach squirm uncomfortably and her fingers were fidgety when ordinarily they would have been steady as a rock. She was out of her usual practical attire. She was without the customary pull at her temples where her hair had usually been scraped back tightly, not an inch out of line. And she without the nip at the end of her nose where her glasses were usually perched. The only aspect that held any familiarity was the pressure of the wand in her pocket where it rested against her body.

It took Minerva one second to decide against using the main doors and moving instead to the staff entrance at the back of the Hall, and then less than one second to change her mind back. She did not want the feel of her appearance to change the way she would usually act and she was irritated with herself for allowing it, in that short moment, to do so.

She walked up to the huge doors. Her royal blue robes were light and silent as they brushed gently against the marble floor of the entrance hall with each step she took. As she came closer to the enormous double doors she began to hear the energised voices of the eager students over the heavy beat of the music as they were caught up in the excitement of the ball.

Minerva took hold of the enormous bronze handle on one of the gigantic wooden doors and pushed it down with ease. Without a creak it opened effortlessly and she stepped into the Hall.

---

Fifteen minutes had passed and Minerva McGonagall had not yet been recognised. She had managed to walk through the hall of teeming students without any of them straightening their posture or making a way for her to walk through. Some, she noticed looked at her and frowned, not able to place where they knew this witch from. It was a strange feeling, yet Minerva felt rather liberated by it.

She walked over to the staff table that had been laden with a colourful assortment of food and drink. As she picked up a chip and made for the pumpkin dip, a deep voice sounded very close behind her.

"The best disguise is no disguise at all." The hairs on the back of Minerva's neck rose as Dumbledore's warm breath swam over it.

Her long hair whipped out behind her as she turned to face him. He was wearing plain, wine-purple robes and a smile that quickly turned to amazement when he saw her. His silver eyebrows caught the candlelight of the glittering Hall as they darted up in surprise. The reaction, however, was swept away immediately and Dumbledore rediscovered his smile.

"I am enchanted, Minerva," he said to her, giving a modest bow. Minerva raised an eyebrow in response.

"How much punch have you had, Albus?" she asked, not able to mask the hint of a smile that glimmered through.

At that moment Professor Flitwick tottered over to them in time to catch Dumbledore's chuckle with an attractive witch whom Filius did not know.

"Glad to see you're having a jolly time, Dumbledore," Filius Flitwick squeaked from his small height only just level with the staff table top. "I haven't seen Minerva yet. It's not like her to be late."

"Oh, I am sure she is around somewhere, Filius," Dumbledore responded. "Tardiness is not a word in Minerva's dictionary, after all."

Professor Flitwick chortled and was back among the crowd of students moments later. Dumbledore turned to Minerva. She wore an expression of great suspicion.

"Albus," she said, "What was that all about?"

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes shone mischievously.

"Can an old man not have a little fun?" he answered. "Anyway, I rather thought you were enjoying not being recognised." At this, Dumbledore held out his hand to Minerva.

She looked at it, then back at him. Minerva opened her mouth to give her refusal, but Dumbledore took hold of her hand and said, "Surely you would not refuse me when I have been practising so hard?"

An involuntary image flittered into Minerva's mind of Dumbledore dancing with the air around his office and a beaming smile on his face. He pulled her without effort to the large open space that was packed with students. Minerva opened her mouth a second time to speak, but Dumbledore prophesised her words once again.

"There are other teachers here to supervise, Minerva," he said. "And I feel I must dance with you before you begin to be recognised."

They had reached the very centre of the crowded Hall by this time and Minerva felt Dumbledore drop her hand and snake his arm around her waist as their other hands came together. She felt rather rigid at first, but as the dance progress, she relaxed into their steps feeling comfortable for the first time that night.

Suddenly, whispers began to start up around the two dancing professors. At first these went unnoticed by Dumbledore and Minerva because the music overpowered the quieter sounds of the Great Hall. Then, however, then the students began to stare.

They saw their Headmaster dancing very merrily with a woman whom none of them could name. Her hair was longer and darker and shinier than anybody else's in the room; her robes were of a magnificent blue that captured the candlelight and shimmered vibrantly; her relaxed manner suggested intimate familiarity with the wizard before her; and her laugh was recognizable to very few.

"Who is she?"

The dancing couple heard the loud whisper as they passed a group of four Hufflepuffs. Then, as the whispers of the crowd grew louder, the smile on Dumbledore's face grew wider.

"I'm sure I recognise her from somewhere."

"Who do _you_ think she is?"

"Oh yes, it's her!" "Who?" "I can't remember."

Dumbledore was chortling unreservedly at his students' struggle. Some of them had continued dancing, but others had now come to a standstill and were pinning Minerva under their stare, trying with all their might to remember where they had seen her before. It was like smelling a familiar smell from your childhood but not being able to place where it was from.

Minerva, however, was not enjoying the attention. When earlier no one had given her a second glance, now the eyes of at least half of the witches and wizards in the Hall were on her. She raised an eyebrow to Dumbledore.

"You seem to be very amused by this," she said severely.

Dumbledore stemmed his chuckles and, still with a large smile, said, "My apologies, Minerva. I promise you I had not expected this to happen. Shall we distract them, do you think?"

"That sounds like an exceptional idea," she replied. "After you."

"Very well," he nodded, and a spark of competition gleamed in his brilliant eyes.

Dumbledore manoeuvred Minerva to the edges of the dance space, passing through large groups of students who were still staring agonisingly at the couple. They paused, a little breathless from their oscillating, and then Dumbledore began in his attempts to distract the crowd.

-

Every student looked up as shooting stars zoomed and whooshed above them, showering them with light as though it were rain. They 'oohed' and 'aahed' and admired the spectacle as Dumbledore stood unobserved at the very edge of the Hall, muttering spells to change the colours of the display that lit up the Hall like the morning sun.

"Very good," Minerva commented as she joined the students in watching the fascinating sight above them. "But will it be enough?"

After the final shooting star had whooshed over the head of the final pupil, the students returned to their activities. For a while it had seemed that they had all forgotten about the mysterious witch who had danced with their dynamic headmaster. However, attention was drawn to her once again by a loud 'OH!' from Professor Flitwick. He stood next to Dumbledore and Minerva, squeaked, and then toppled from the chair he was standing on.

"Can it really be?" he said in his high-pitched voice, picking himself up off the ground.

The students had started to strain their ears, trying to hear if the witch's name was mentioned. Dumbledore wiped a tear of delight from his eye and caught the students staring towards him and the two other professors.

"I believe it's your turn, Minerva," he said quietly, ensuring that the students heard nothing. It was becoming an unspoken game – a silent competition between Dumbledore and Minerva to perform the best magic in order to distract the students.

Minerva smiled unreservedly at Dumbledore and undertook the challenge of diverting their attention once again. Another game had sprung up in the midst of the spirited atmosphere – while the students were on a mission to discover the identity of the nameless witch, Dumbledore and the witch in question were endeavouring to keep it hidden as long as possible.

It was harder for Minerva as the eyes of the students were unrelenting upon her. However, there was, of course, an easy way of escaping that. Moving behind a group of students who were facing the dance floor, giggling happily with no concept of the other students' curiosity, Minerva performed a quick spell and was lost among the crowd. Nobody, evidently, was looking for a cat.

With the students looking in the opposite direction, Dumbledore caught sight of a tabby cat sprinting across the floor. Minerva transfigured herself back into her human form once she was on the other side of the room and caught his eye. Dumbledore incline his head and Minerva began her own magical distraction.

Dumbledore could not see what was happening at first, but the students in the centre of the Hall cried out in alarm. As they moved apart, he could see the floor stirring. He waited patiently to see what Minerva was going to surprise them all with.

The students had backed away and were watching the flagstones of the Great Hall swirl and become distorted and flexible. A huge crater had begun to form.

Then, quite as suddenly as it had appeared, the dip in the floor began to emit a silver white glow. Minerva was constantly muttering under her breath, absorbed in the spell she was casting. The floor looked like liquid now, and started to bulge in seven places. These swellings grew and rose out of the silver white swirls.

Seven beautiful women appeared. They floated upwards and stopped several feet from the ground. Every part of them was a shimmering silvery-white, as if they were made from the stars themselves. They appeared in a ring, facing outwards to look upon the amazed students on all sides. They were naked but for a single white ribbon that spun modesty around them and linked them together. They moved fluidly at a slow pace, like seaweed in the current of a gentle river.

Their dance captivated the students and, when the dazzling women had the attention of everyone in the room, they began to speak, their voices in harmony with each other, sounding like a gentle echo:

"_We are 7 in number, just 7  
__In terrible depths we are 7  
__Bow down, in the sky we are 7._"

At a flick of Minerva's wand, the women abruptly vanished and were replaced by seven doves that looked as though they had been made from starlight. The creatures flew high towards the ceiling of the Great Hall and faded away in the glimmering stars of the bewitched ceiling.

The students applauded excitedly as a cluster of seven stars in the ceiling shimmered brighter than ever. As they looked down, they noticed that the swirling mass in the Great Hall floor had disappeared and now hid all trace that seven magnificent women had just arisen from it.

Minerva's spell had worked. The students now had something else to talk about. She skirted the floor and this time not one student glanced her way. She located Dumbledore next to the dip where he had found her earlier.

"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore said with energy. "That was simply marvellous. I feel you have reached the zenith, my dear."

Minerva smiled back at him, her wand still clutched in her hand, and this time she was the one who wore the mischievous glint in her eye.

"Not quite, Albus," she said.

Dumbledore beamed at her and brought his wand from his robes.


	4. Revealed

_**Revealed**_

_June 1960_

Performing magic for entertainment, and not for learning, was not something that was required often of the teachers. That was why, over one hour after the seven sisters had disappeared, the students were still discussing it, driving all thought of one unknown witch and one seemingly absent professor out of their minds.

"This is delightfully amusing, Minerva," Dumbledore said as they sat and watched the students whirl around the room. They had not needed to use their wands just yet because the students were apparently distracted enough.

"I marvel at people's minds," he continued. "How, when they are so used to seeing someone a certain way, they accept them as utterly unchangeable so that when you emerged before them with your appearance only slightly altered, they acknowledged you as a wholly different person. Remarkable," he added, impressed.

Minerva, who had at first been as amazed as Dumbledore at the blank faces of the Hogwarts students as they saw her, was now becoming rather impatient. She had less interest for the analysis of human behaviour than Dumbledore did. It was an unusual feeling to not, in some way, have an identity. Though she knew who she was, it is people's reactions to a person that shape their identity as much as a knowledge of yourself. Without those reactions Minerva felt that she had lost part of her grip on control. She _wanted_ to be recognised.

In her silence, Dumbledore had turned to her and was closely examining her features. She looked at him and caught his eye. She was very good at Occlumency, and knew that Dumbledore rarely used his Legilimency skills. However, in that moment, she pushed a rather abridged version of her thoughts to the forefront of her mind and silently requested for him to read them. Eventually he responded.

"As you wish, Minerva. Might I request one thing?" he asked graciously. "It is perhaps not to your taste, but I believe we owe it to the students to be rather… ostentatious." Dumbledore's eyes sparkled eagerly.

Minerva's eyebrow shot up.

-

Once again Minerva was standing near to the staff table at the edge of the dance floor facing the students. She had refused Dumbledore's suggestion of what was to come adamantly at first, but when he threatened her with a far more flamboyant demonstration if she didn't comply, she grudgingly accepted.

Dumbledore stood opposite her at the other end of the hall by the large main doors. He had his wand in his hand and was wearing a rather mischievous smile. He spoke merrily to students who stopped dancing to talk to him and began asking them for their opinion on a particular matter. The student's excited responses were clearly visible from where Minerva stood, and Dumbledore's ecstatic expression confirmed her suspicions.

Word began to spread around the hall that there was going to be a duel. A harmless one, of course; one for the night's entertainment. What the students did not know was who the duel was going to be between. As the rumour spread, the hall began to buzz excitedly and a pathway was made, separating one half of the students from the other.

The students began to watch both ends of the pathway, eagerly awaiting the wizards who will be their entertainment for the night. A great cheer went up as Dumbledore stepped into view at one end. Then, as the hoots and claps receded, the students' heads turned to the opposite end.

It stood empty for a while, and then a heeled shoe of the deepest blue came into view followed by lighter, royal blue robes. The witch, whom not a single student could name, came to a standstill at the end of the pathway. There was an enormous silence in which you could, very realistically, hear a pin drop. The witch looked magnificent. Her ebony hair cascaded over her robes and shone as black as the Hogwarts Lake in the dark of midnight when only the stars were gazing upon it.

After the silence, in which every student in the hall had marvelled at the witch's radiance, there was a sudden eruption of noise. Minerva ignored the whistles that went along with it.

Dumbledore and Minerva stepped forward a few paces; and so fell another deadly silence. Minerva could see the smile on Dumbledore's face as his boyish excitement gleamed through. Her own excitement however, was dampened by thoughts of the unknown finale he was planning. He had promised flamboyance at its smallest degree. This was not a comfort to Minerva. Dumbledore's idea of a small degree of flamboyance was, she was sure, far different from her own.

The gap between them was at least thirty feet when they came to a halt. Minerva saw Dumbledore put his palm to his chest and incline his head unhurriedly. She clenched her teeth together tightly and bowed back. The students held their breath and the tension in the air was on the verge of cracking like a sheet of glass.

The first flash of light zoomed so quickly across the Great Hall that it rustled the dress robes of the students gathered around. It was as if she was in slow motion. The spell was too fast for Minerva to block so her back twisted backwards and to her right. Dumbledore's spell whizzed past her only inches away from her chest. As Minerva began to rise she sent a spell shooting out of the end of her wand in a flash of gold.

Dumbledore was ready. He blocked it, but only just. Minerva was straight-backed once again with her wand at the ready. The students, she suddenly noticed, were cheering with energy and the atmosphere began to stir something of a thrill inside Minerva.

The students watched on as the witch and wizard began to duel faster than anything they had ever seen. Dumbledore's and the witch's hair was flying out around them as they moved with the movements of the battle, but their faces were always composed and their concentration was immense and never wavered. It seemed as though nothing could distract them. The young witches and wizards surrounding them watched in amazement as the unknown witch fought on against their Headmaster, the most powerful wizard of the age. Even tiny Professor Flitwick stood in awe as the witch blocked and avoided spells that were too fast for most of them to see.

Minerva was tiring, and she could see that Dumbledore was too. They had been throwing spells at each other for several minutes and Minerva knew that Dumbledore was building up the excitement on purpose. It would have been a much shorter duel if he was using his full powers. As it happened, he was indulging himself in a friendly duel that a lesser witch than Minerva would have found unmanageable.

Dumbledore hurled a flash of bright purple at Minerva which she blocked with difficulty. The battle was becoming harder. She fired back a blazing blue spell towards him, which he narrowly avoided and then, as suddenly as a flash from a wand tip, the room became quiet. Dumbledore had not returned her spell. Minerva was breathing fast, holding up her wand ready to block whatever he shot at her.

But it didn't come. Dumbledore stood there, breathing as fast as she was, waiting. Minerva's brow furrowed, but she didn't wait. Her wand arm swung round and shot forward. An intense red blaze exploded out of the end of her wand. This, apparently, was what Dumbledore had been waiting for. He moved so quickly that Minerva barely saw it. He aimed his own spell at the red flash of Minerva's which was rocketing through the air.

She knew he had used more of his power this time. The two spells came hurtling back to her in less than a second. They hit her full force in the chest and she was propelled backward several feet. The spells helped slow her, however, and held her up until she came to a halt. In fact, they held her up so much that she was now hovering several inches off the ground and had become enveloped in a gauzy red mist.

The students gasped as they saw the witch suspended in midair before them. The witch however, had a face of utter calm.

Minerva now knew what Dumbledore had been planning. Her hair and robes had been caught in a rush of air within the spell that surrounded her, and her skin was glowing pink from the red mist around her. She looked up and glared severely at Dumbledore. If this was his idea of a barely flamboyant finale then he was very much mistaken. He stood before her, watching as evenly as if this was an event that happened everyday.

Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva saw the student's faces watching her. Some were shocked, some confused, some frightened, but mostly they were excited. This was Dumbledore's spell after all; what could be harmful about it?

Slowly and very steadily, Minerva felt her body begin to rotate. Then it spun faster. Then faster still. The room and the people within it became a blur as she spun. There was nothing dizzying about this spinning. The effects of Dumbledore's spell had seen to that.

The students watched on with great excitement. Some looked at Dumbledore and saw him beaming at the witch spinning mere feet away from them all. He flicked his wand and the witch started to move steadily to the centre of the Hall. The students crowded round and followed behind her, blocking her end of the pathway as they closed in.

As they followed, they noticed the witch begin to change. She was spinning slower now and the students could see her features more clearly. Her robes were still swirling around her but her hair was doing something different. It had come together in a single mass of black and was settling high on her head. The students looked upon the witch in silent amazement.

Dumbledore flicked his wand again.

Something else was happening, the students saw. Above the witch's head a new object had come into being and was rotating at the same speed as the witch.

Disbelieving gasps could be heard from the students closest to the witch. A distinctive, "No – way!" resounded around the Great Hall.

The witch began to slow. The red mist began to diminish. The dark blue shoes softly hit the flagstones of the Great Hall as the witch was lowered. The object above the witch dropped steadily and settled on the tip of her nose.

"It's McGonagall!" An amazed whispering rushed around the Great Hall like a breeze. "It's McGonagall." "It's McGonagall!" "I don't believe it!" "It's McGonagall!"

Minerva had finally settled on the ground and was back to her normal non-glowing self. She looked silently upon the gaping students before her. Her lips thinned and her nostrils flared.

"Unless you are planning on falling over yourself, Mr. Prewitt," Minerva began sharply, "I suggest you tie up your shoelaces."

TBC


	5. Layers

**A/N: **Can a person come back to a story after more than 6 years? I'm not really 'back' (see profile) I'm just playing. This is the first ADMM I've written since I stopped so I'm sorry if my characterization is off….

_**Layers**_

_June 1960_

"But you do look astonishingly different," Slughorn sleazed at Minerva. Three members of staff were all that remained at the ball after having shepherded the students off to bed. They were sat around one of the decorated tables, Slughorn and Dumbledore's eyes turned towards Minerva as she took a sip of her elderflower wine. Dumbledore's spell had broken as Minerva had walked through the crowd of students after his little performance and she knew he had done it on purpose. As the students parted to let her through, their astonished, nervous or grinning faces saw her hair spill back down to her hips and her glasses pop away into the ether. A big cheer went up and the music swelled; Dumbledore's doing, of course.

"Good job you don't look like that all the time," Slughorn continued, waving his whiskey at her. "You would distract the students."

Dumbledore chuckled into his hot chocolate as Minerva shot a sharp look at Slughorn and then took a bigger sip of her wine.

Slughorn was the first to finish his drink and say 'goodnight', leaving Minerva and Dumbledore to watch as the door to the Great Hall closed silently behind him.

"It is astonishing though," Dumbledore said after a while. "The behaviour of the students changed so much after they knew who you were; where before they were observing you with their excellent ogling stares, later they tried to control their conspicuousness. They were still looking though," he added with a smile. "People are a wonder of layers."

"Hmm," Minerva responded shortly. "And the layers get harder to decipher the older they get."

Dumbledore turned his gaze from the marshmallows in his chocolate to the witch next to him. "There are more thoughts to disguise," he said precisely.

Minerva shot a severe look at Dumbledore. She knew he was about to be impertinent and her glance was a warning.

"And that's your disguise," he said gesturing towards her expression. "Severity," he added.

"And yours is frivolity," Minerva retorted.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Alas, you know me too well, Minerva. Now, I am going to retire before you strip anymore layers away from this frivolous façade."

Dumbledore and Minerva left the Great Hall together, barely hearing the cracks and pops of the house elves who appeared behind the doors as they clicked closed.

He didn't need to, but Dumbledore walked Minerva to her door. He had something to say to her that was not for the ears of the ghosts gliding down the corridors, not for the ears of the walls, nor for the paintings either. He clicked her door shut behind him, but didn't venture any further into her rooms. Minerva turned with a questioning look.

"How do you feel," Dumbledore asked seriously, "about this?" His hand reached towards her and lifted one of the tresses of hair at her hips, brushing it through his fingers. Minerva watched him feel the texture, sensing a wave roll over her stomach.

"Free," she whispered. Then, realising she had lost her disguise, she took a sharp intake of breath and added, "Everything will be back to normal in the morning."

"I believe Horace will be severely disheartened - poor fellow," he responded, his eyes smiling at her.

"How will I live with myself?" Minerva replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Dumbledore chortled at Minerva's dry wit. She looked down at his fingers which were still teasing the locks of soft, dark hair around them and she stiffened awkwardly.

"It's late, Albus," she said sharply. "I have work to do tomorrow."

Dumbledore did not lose his smile. "There's that façade again, Minerva," he said, amused. "I wonder how one might breach something so well guarded," he continued, more to himself than to Minerva, scrutinising her face as he did so.

"Some walls are not made to be broken, Albus." Her voice was determined, her disguise, perfect.

"May I try?"

"No-"

Minerva's voice cracked as Dumbledore's hand dropped her hair and moved to her face. His fingers hugged her neck and his thumb went under her chin, lifting her face upwards.

"Just once," he whispered. It was not a question. He stepped forward, closing the space between them and leaned down towards her. Gentle. His lips skimmed hers. Stronger. He was testing the boundaries. Minerva grazed her hands up his chest and caught his neck, pulling her closer to him. Her façade was broken. Just once.

x x x

_December 2000_

Tap tap tap.

"Come in, Albus," she called out.

Minerva swept through her bedroom and out into her living room to greet Dumbledore. As he entered he somehow managed to fill the room.

"I thought you might enjoy a pre-ball tipple," he said sitting down on her sofa and gesturing to the empty space next to him. Minerva's lips tightened.

"Did you?" she asked, losing none of the irritation she'd felt all evening.

"I did," Dumbledore replied. "And _that _is why," he explained, signalling her tight, stress filled, irritated features.

...

"Have you ever tried a sherbert lemon?" Dumbledore asked. "Far better than the pear drops of old."

"It's my turn, Albus. Favourite student?" Minerva asked. "_Past_ student," she clarified. "They cannot be here now."

"I cannot answer that," Dumbledore said rejecting the question.

"On what grounds?" Minerva asked, indignantly.

"Bias," he replied simply.

Their entertainment had been flowing for ten minutes, both keeping the questions and answers light-hearted and unrevealing. They could both see the mirror image of their younger selves forty years ago playing out before them. Minerva forced her thoughts onto the decision they had silently made then, and tried to bring it to the fore. She had let her hair down, literally and figuratively, for one night many years ago. That was all it would ever be… but his answer had made her flush with the memory of it.

"Fine," she said, trying to recover her composure. "Favourite-"

"Let your hair down, Minerva" Dumbledore said, as offhand as is possible to be. She knew that he too had been thinking about the last ball they had both attended at Hogwarts.

"I'd rather not," she replied tersely, "Especially if you have a flamboyant performance in mind."

"I am not talking about the ball, Minerva," Dumbledore interjected. "Although it is a good excuse," he continued, his eyes sparkling playfully. She did not respond, but was lost in thought. Her eyes focused on the deep emerald robes falling over Dumbledore's knees and then travelled up, following his whitened beard, over his lips which were dancing with unheard whispers, and up to his eyes. She was not sure if she could do it again.

Suddenly, she felt a loosening at her temples. Dumbledore moved towards her, lifted his hands to her face and removed her glasses. At the same time she felt soft brushes against her neck and down her spine. "If confiscating your glasses and freeing your hair is what it takes for you to trust me with that person I saw all those years ago, then so be it. I have so wished to see her again, Minerva."

Minerva smiled sadly at him. "She's a very private person, Albus."

Dumbledore slid off the sofa and knelt before her, where she was perched, and moved to kneel between her legs. Minerva's fingers travelled over Dumbledore's neck and up into his hair, holding his head.

"Share her with me," Dumbledore said. "Not just for tonight."

END


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